Dirk woke on the couch of his office to the frantic door knocking he had come to associate with the urgent customer. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and went to check. There was a boy, black, plain and ordinary features, cheap clothing, relentlessly hammering at his door with increasing impatience. He opened the Door and peeked out from behind it.
“Hello, and you are?” Dirk forced a smile on his stiff face.
The other froze for a moment and looked at him.
“The Don sent me. We have a problem, can I come in?”
“The Don doesn’t send kids to me.” Dirk frowned.
“The Don sent me. And you want to talk to me.”
“No I don’t.” Then he closed the door and went to his couch, where he had left his pants on the floor, and quickly dressed himself. The banging on his door intensified, rudely.
“Alright alright” Dirk shouted. “Give me a minute here, and stop fucking bashing my door in!” Dirk was not a morning person, and 11 AM was most certainly not a time he would rise at when left to his own. Eventually, but only after setting up his coffee machine, and stowing away his gun in a drawer, he opened his door to let the annoying customer inside. Jakub involuntarily coughed when he took a full lung of old lingering smoke, weeks of accumulated dust recently disturbed by his footsteps, and the overpowering odour of coffee with too much rum in it. Dirk took no notice and bade him to sit on a chair at his kitchen window. The slight breeze from the outside helped Jakub cope.
“So, who are you and what has the Don sent you here for?” Dirk asked as he offered Jakub a suspiciously grimy coffee mug, that was steaming away excess heat, and had, as far as Jakub could smell it, no rum in it.
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“My name is Jakub Jabari. I am … how to put this” Tears were trying to force their way out of his eyes, but Jakub held them back. He didn’t know why he felt like crying now, it was absurd. The whole thing was absurd. Why was this shit fest even his problem? It was all just so … unfair. He continued:
“A woman was murdered last night.”
“I’ve heard. It was all over the news.”
“I was told that you were related to her, that she was your ‘girl’” Jakub said with slight irritation. Why was this man so calm, did he not know?
“What are you talking about, Jakub. I don’t have a ‘girl’?”
“Manfred, the Don’s right-hand man, said she was your girl”
“Are you talking about Ruth? Nah, can’t be. Absolutely impossible. That woman is tougher than you can imagine.” It couldn’t be. But doubt was creeping down Dirk’s spine like a spider gently tapping its eight legs on his bare skin.
“I don’t know her name, but Manfred said …”
(Manfred said a lot of things, one thing stood out in particular: You can now shamelessly and anonymously donate your electronic money to https://www.paypal.me/prvllmr to gain my undivided attention, and possibly the great Offlers appreciation. Btw read this on royalroad.com I don’t like seeing my and other people's work being stolen and published on some bs website. Oh and keep reading! We are almost past all the boring introductions and story setups, I want action! and you r gonna get it!)
Dirk just broke. Like a computer shutting down with a bluescreen his mind went blank and blue. What actually went on in his head at this time was not aptly describable in words, and neither was it in binary. His Implant blared alarms at him, irritated by the unfamiliar brain wave activity. His neurons were all firing at the same time, and the poor old artefact of a better time thought he was having a stroke or dying, or both. What? How? Why? WHO! Anger, boosted to unprecedented levels by all the glands his body had to offer, flooded Dirk and transformed him into a different person, never to be the same again.